


Into the ashes and no return

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Seasons One and Two AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-01
Updated: 2013-03-22
Packaged: 2017-11-13 08:37:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/501549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To his left, a low growl sounded, coupled with the distinct rustling of branches, freezing his muscles and sending his already rapid heart rate into overdrive. Images of being torn apart by a cougar or some rabid dog seared his mind’s eye, and he sent a frantic apology to his dad for hurting him like this, before a furious snarl broke through what should have been his last thoughts, this time coming from the right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Run, little child, run

**Author's Note:**

> I was listening to Fever Ray's _The Wolf_ when I felt like I _needed_ to write this.

Firelight flickered strangely on faces previously known only in the light of day or under the blinding illumination of the athletic field, casting doubt on a world typically stark and unyielding in its definition. Young men and women hollered in drunken levity to friends sprawled, crouched, curled on the ground near the bonfire. Music drifted from an open car, accompanied by the swaying of the occasional couple or uninhibited youth. The spicy scent of evergreen leaves filled the air, mingling with the stale-barley smell of cheap booze and smoke. On the periphery, a boy slumped against a broad tree trunk, closing his eyes against the image of a pale beauty with hair as vivid as the writhing flames twining with the quintessential high school hero. He knocked his head back into the unfriendly bark, which rasped against his scalp, poorly protected by short brown hair. It offered no relief, a fact which was as unsurprising as it was unwelcome.  
  
He couldn’t believe he had allowed his best friend, indeed his only teenaged friend, to talk him into coming to the lacrosse team’s victory party, only to have him beg for the key to his jeep after being there for less than an hour in order to finally seal the deal with the girl he had been pining after all semester.  
  
The light spring breeze soothed his overheated skin and cleared away the slight buzz his one cup of beer had brought on, and he gathered himself, pulling away from the tree. If he wanted to make it home with plenty of time before his father left the police station, he needed to start heading that way. Besides, he didn’t have to torture himself like this, didn’t have to stick around and remind himself how invisible he was to the overwhelming majority of the student population.  
  
Steeling himself, he started walking. Shoving his hands in his jeans, his eyes darted around the forest, taking in everything that he could in the uncomfortable darkness of the early morning hours. At every crackle of leaves, every snap of a twig, he tensed, his nerves frayed and raw and undeniable. Once upon a time, these woods were his playground. He would come here to get away from the world when life became too claustrophobic, too intense. That all changed four months ago when a young woman was mauled to death, her body separated at the waist. After that, the deaths kept coming. His dad began working longer and longer hours, taking his duty as sheriff to heart as he always had, and he forbade him from going into the woods alone.  
  
Until tonight, he had followed his dad’s new rule, not wanting to worry him any more than he already did. As his heart threatened to escape from his chest, he wished fervently that he had stuck to that pattern, pining best friend’s lucky break notwithstanding. Carrying on, thoughts of crushed hopes weighed him down, slowing his steps, even as he desperately wanted to leave the trees behind.  
  
To his left, a low growl sounded, coupled with the distinct rustling of branches, freezing his muscles and sending his already rapid heart rate into overdrive. Images of being torn apart by a cougar or some rabid dog seared his mind’s eye, and he sent a frantic apology to his dad for hurting him like this, before a furious snarl broke through what should have been his last thoughts, this time coming from the right.  
  
A blurred figure of what must have been a man passed before his eyes and released a challenging roar, only to be cut off by a giant black nightmare leaping out and knocking him away. He glanced at the strangely lupine face and glowing eyes of what might have been his protector, and heard him demand that he run. When nothing happened, his would-be savior bared his fangs, yelling, “ _Run_ , you idiot!” once more.  
  
He ran.


	2. Don't you let it take you over (you don't have to keep looking over your shoulder)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There isn't a whole lot to this chapter, but I still felt like his reaction to the events of the night deserved to be set apart from future events.
> 
> Somewhere along the way, Mama Stilinski feelings crept in. And no, I don't know why.

Branches scratched at his sensitive skin, leaving stripes of red on pale cheeks, and his chest heaved with every breath, everything in him screaming to run faster, farther, from the dark mass that he knew would haunt his dreams for months to come. His heartbeat was loud in his ears, the cacophony almost enough to drown out the sticks and leaves which snapped and cracked under his feet, but not enough to erase the memory of the snarls and growls which followed after him. He wondered why he was the only one fleeing the forest, the only one fearing for his life. Surely the students around the bonfire could tell that something was wrong? Surely they felt in their basest minds the blood-curdling terror of being in such close proximity to a monster? And not the kinds of monsters his dad was forced to take on from time to time, not the twisted and irredeemable dregs of humanity, but truly unbelievable phantasmagoric monsters, the kind Stiles only knew how to combat with an avatar from the safety of his computer chair.

For once, his hyper-awareness proved more of a help than a hindrance, allowing him to dodge and leap over obstacles that threatened to slow him down, and he reached the road sooner than he expected, though to his terrified mind, it could never be soon enough. With the adrenaline still pumping hard and fast through his veins, he kept running, unable to take any comfort from the signs and landmarks beckoning him back to the world as he knew it, the world without creatures of the night.

When he reached his own front door, he collapsed on the weathered welcome mat like a foal returning to the warmth and security of its mother, and began feeling about for the spare key. Upon finding it, he unlocked the front door with shaking hands, returned the key to its hiding place, and tumbled inside.

His dad must have left the light on in the kitchen before leaving for work, and Stiles was overcome with gratitude, because the thought of coming home to a house that was not only empty, but pitch black as well, was simply more than he could handle after tonight. The low, yellow light was just enough to help him find his way up the stairs, though his legs felt as steady as jelly. Needing to lose the icy terror which still sent tremors up and down his spine, he went straight to the bathroom, shucking his clothes by the door. His legs were deemed far too insufficient for the task of holding him up under the showerhead, and so he plugged the drain and ran water that would be hot enough to blister his already fairly abused flesh.

The sharp sting of slightly chlorinated, over-warm water in the many scratches which decorated the areas which had been exposed to the ravages of the forest was almost welcome when he finally sank down into the tub, providing a counterpoint to the fear, forcing his mind to focus and leave images of the creature that came at him in the dark, where it belonged.

Unfortunately, leaving behind one fear brought on a whole set of others. What was he supposed to tell his dad? There would be no way to deny that he had gone against his orders, that he had ventured out and paid the price. He was so screwed, and not at all in the fun way, which he could admit he was a little bitter about. How long had he been waiting for Lydia Martin to give him more than a passing glance, and yet Scott was able to spend a night with Allison after one measly semester? He could totally manage to be glad for his friend and jealous at the same time. That was infinitely better than seeing flashes of black fur, red eyes, razor-sharp fangs -

No. He wasn’t thinking about that.

He _wasn’t_.

Except that the water was starting to get cold, and the shivers were coming back, and for some reason the tub was starting to feel way too small. He jerked himself up out of the tub and pulled out the plug, yanking his towel off of the rack and huddling in it for a minute before patting himself dry faster than he had ever managed before. Scooping up his discarded clothes, he jogged to his bedroom and threw them into the small hamper hidden in the far corner, noting with detachment that he would need to do laundry in the morning. That done, he rooted through his drawers and pulled out the thickest, softest sweats he owned, which were actually hand-me-downs from his dad, and fumbled his way into them. The reminder of his dad served to sooth him even more than the extra warmth, and he sighed, sinking into the comfort.

He gave his laptop a contemplative glance, and it stared back at him innocently. Did he dare?

No. Not now. Not tonight. That was something best saved for the light of day, when he wouldn’t find himself jumping at every creak and groan of the house, at the wind rustling the surrounding trees. He burrowed under the covers instead, curling up into a ball the way he used to on the nights his mother would let him watch movies that were just a little too scary, even though his dad had disapproved. The movies had stopped being scary after his mother died, because what could be worse than that, really? Nothing but the thought of losing his dad, but that wouldn’t happen, couldn’t happen, because his dad was a sheriff, which was better than being a superhero, and he would be fine, wouldn’t he? So Stiles had taken to keeping an eye on his dad’s diet, and watching horror flicks while he cooked healthier meals, because he could absolutely face his fears head on.

Right up until his fears became something straight out of those very films. But is wasn’t all bad, was it? He had a protector, albeit one that was only slightly less terrifying than the creature he was protecting Stiles from.

He fell asleep waiting for the sound of his dad’s footsteps on the stairs, and never noticed the figure that slipped silently into his room, watching over him until the sun came up over the once-sleepy town.


	3. I woke with this fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles does what he does best - spends some time ignoring the problem, and then decides to confront his fears with research.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, okay, so. It's been quite a while since I've actually written anything for this fic. 
> 
> I hadn't forgotten about it, in case any of you were wondering. I just got so distracted by other fics, and so this one got put on the back burner for a while. I might even pick _Something Wicked_ back up soon. Wouldn't _that_ be a shock?
> 
> I didn't actually start out this chapter expecting to create a new character. She just sort of happened, because Stiles said so, and I tend to nod and keep typing whenever Stiles decides he wants something, because otherwise, nothing gets done.
> 
> The title for this chapter comes from Linkin Park's _Leave Out All the Rest_.

Trees came to life, snapping, snaring, snatching wherever he turned. The earth opened up and threatened to swallow him whole. Wind howled and cackled and moaned at him, overwhelming his ears and blotting out all thought. Through it all, the only illumination came from a pair of bright red eyes. Whatever it was, the creature was playing with him, toying as only the truly sadistic predators would.

Stiles struggled against the trees and the earth and din and the fear, the unrelenting, all-encompassing terror. He may not be powerful, he may have a tendency to deny things until they either went away or slapped him in the face, but he was no coward. He would not give into this _thing,_ this beast who wanted nothing so much as to drive him out of his mind. He would not tremble, he would not stop, he would not submit. If these were going to be his last moments, he wanted to go out knowing he did everything he could to keep going, to get home to his dad.

All of this and more ran through his mind as the monster at last grew tired of its game and _pounced_ , laying him out and smothering him into the forest floor, the sticks and rocks and stray roots all doing their best to cause as much pain as possible, because why shouldn’t his death be ugly and unbearably agonizing? Claws raked down his back, and he bit his lip against the scream that desperately wanted to burst free. He breathed in through his nose and gritted his teeth together - it wasn’t like his dentist could tut at him for grinding them whenever he was frustrated if he was _dead_ \- and felt the world roll and reorient as he was turned over. Now, there was nothing jabbing into his face, but the bracken and the sediment that got into his freshly opened flesh was worse, so much worse.

Even the pain could not fully distract him from the horrifying maw and blood red eyes which stared manically down at him. The jaws separated, and he braced himself for the end, he was ready, he could handle it, he -

\- felt a warm hand softly stroking along his cheek and into his hair, heard a deep voice like velvet murmuring in his ear, felt the cocoon of his own comforter, and drifted back off into a darkness that wasn’t frightening, was instead heavy and peaceful.

He did not stir again until the sun was well on its way toward the middle of its journey across the sky.

The first thing on his mind upon waking was not, surprisingly, the scare from the night before, nor was it the nightmare he had not long after. Instead, the unpleasant emptiness in his stomach dragged him downstairs and into the kitchen. He raided the cinnamon raisin bagels, taking three and then jotting that down on the grocery list he had going on the refrigerator door. He opened each one and slathered them with as much canola butter as he could without prickling his conscience, and put them in the oven to broil for a minute while he fried himself the last of the turkey bacon, writing that on the list as well. After pulling the bagels out of the oven, he burned his tongue on the hot raisins, but could not regret it with the juicy sweetness bursting on his tastebuds. He made short work of his breakfast, and even shorter work of the cleanup.

Once back in his room, he dressed for the day and then debated with himself before finishing the lab report for Harris, the one teacher who had been cruel enough to assign homework on the weekend of the state game. It almost felt like stalling, but it needed to be done, and done _well_ , since his dragon of a chemistry teacher would be able to find fault in his work for the most infinitesimal details. It was after proofreading his lab report twice that he admitted he was being more than a little ridiculous, and he printed it out, placing it in the sleave of his chemistry binder with exaggerated care.

He turned back to his laptop and sighed. “This is crazy.”

Nothing jumped out at him to tell him otherwise, and he sighed again, rubbing his hands roughly over his close-cut hair. Finally, he could not fight the urge to know, to understand, and he began to search. He started with his unknown defender, looking for any instances where werewolves - and honestly, _werewolves_ , but what else could his savior and the beast have been? - had stepped in to protect a human from whatever hunted them. His queries resulted in a truly staggering amount of fan fiction and recommendations for novels on Amazon, the majority of them in the young adult and trashy romance sections. Stephenie Meyer had a lot to answer for. Eventually, though, he found a few sites that had less to do with torrid love affairs, borderline abusive relationships, and damsels in distress, and more to do with the psychology of werewolves, of whether or not they could feel compassion for others outside of their pack. Most of those sites firmly insisted that werewolves were mindless beasts, particularly when turned, but a few were more encouraging, claiming that werewolves were every bit as socially and morally aware as the average human being, and that yes, there were some werewolves who were evil, but there were far more who simply wanted to live their lives in peace. One of those sites led him to a list of books which he may or may not be able to find in the Beacon Hills Public Library.

Deciding to go while there was still a good bit of daylight left, Stiles said a silent prayer for his Jeep to be parked in the driveway - because wouldn’t that be fun to explain to his dad, on top of everything else? Thankfully, at some point in the day, Scott had come through. Grateful for that, at least, Stiles hopped into the driver’s side and started out toward the library, humming tunelessly to himself the whole way.

As the library came into view, he breathed out slowly, letting go of tension he hadn’t even realized he had been holding onto until it was gone. He loved this place. It felt secure in a way that only places filled with memories of his mother could. It was older than dirt, and possibly dinosaurs, and it never seemed to throw out or sell any of its books, so there was no telling what kind of eccentric literature it contained - though his guess would be more accurate than most, since he volunteered here during the summer. Much as he liked to pretend otherwise, sitting in his room and gaming all day, every day in his pajamas was actually not enough to keep him happy. Besides, he had a longstanding friendship with the head librarian.

Mrs. Nielsen never gave him strange looks, nor minded when he would break off into tangents in the middle of their conversations whenever she decided to take a break, letting him talk her ears off. Pushing seventy, she was one of the kindest, most patient people he had ever met. She still wore the same horn-rimmed frames she had worn when Stiles was little and he would stay with his mom while she worked, making his way through the entire children’s section, and her long grass skirts and solid-colored cotton shirts were still completed with a pair of patent leather flats and a long, thick chain with a locket hanging low on her wrinkled neck.

Her ancient red-and-beige Chevy was the only vehicle parked in the lot, as he had expected. Mrs. Nielsen was the only one who worked at the library on the weekend, and even that was a recent development. He knew why. He had been to Mr. Nielsen’s funeral two years ago, and he knew all too well what it was like to need something to take his mind off of the grief.

Parking next to her truck, Stiles tried to decide how he should approach this. Should he simply play it off as a new hobby? She would know he was lying. Mrs. Nielsen was intuitive that way. Perhaps he should just tell her about the nightmare he’d had, and leave out the rest.

She was an understanding woman, but even her ability to suspend disbelief had its limits.

He reached the massive double doors and was out of time, pushing his way through and proceeding to the front desk where his friend sat sorting through a pile of recently returned books. “Hey, beautiful.”

Lifting her great silvery mane, Mrs. Nielsen pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and quirked a good-natured salt-and-pepper eyebrow at Stiles. “Hello, dear. Are you here to research California’s drinking laws again?”

“Uh, no. Not this time.” That was once - _once!_ \- and she still liked to tease him about it. “I was actually hoping to look some stuff up on werewolves. If, you know, there’s anything like that here.” He didn’t remember running across books on lycanthropy - the actual subject, and not paperback novels certain to make even him blush - in his summers volunteering, though that could be because he spent most of his time reading to the children and checking out books.

She blinked at him and then seemed to really consider the matter. “Werewolves? Well, we might have one or two. Yes... Let me get out the old card catalogue. What you’re looking for won’t have been added to the database yet.” He watched her disappear under the desk, then come up again with a decrepit binder. “Mmmm. Not that... no... not that, either... Ye-es. Here we are.” She looked up from the cards. “You’re in luck, dear. There are three reference books listed. Let me just write down their titles and numbers, and then I’ll let you do the rest.” She grabbed a legal pad and began recording the necessary information, asking, “Now, what’s this about?”

Stiles rubbed a hand down the back of his neck before admitting, “I had a dream about them last night, and I figure it’s probably better to know about what freaked me out, instead of trying to pretend it never happened.”

“Yes, you do look as though you didn’t sleep well last night,” the librarian mused sympathetically, handing over the list of titles. He could see the moment she really took in the marks left over from his time in the forest last night, and was indescribably thankful when she decided to leave well enough alone. “I hope these help.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Nielsen.”

“Of course, dear. You let me know if you need anything else.”

Nodding, he started off toward the reference section. “Will do, ma’am.”

The search took longer than he was expecting, in spite of the numbers on each of the spines. Most of them had been entered into the card catalogue before his parents had graduated high school, and were now faded and fraying. This was especially true for the books he currently needed, and he retrieved them from the shelves with even more care than he usually showed toward the books in this place.

He journeyed back to the front and chatted idly with Mrs. Nielsen as she checked his books out. By the time he left her with a kiss on the cheek, and a promise to stop by more often, the sky was the rosy color of dusk. Reluctant to be out without the security of daylight, and feeling rather ridiculous about the whole thing, Stiles drove home at speeds which would have had his father frowning for sure.

Sneaking inside and up the stairs with his small stack of what only Hermione Granger would consider light reading, Stiles listened carefully for the sound of his father’s snoring, and grinned fondly as soon as it reached his ears. He should have about an hour to throw something together for the two of them before his dad had to go in for yet another night shift. Breakfast for dinner sounded good.

Since they were out of turkey bacon, he’d even let his dad have the real stuff, from an actual pig, in the hopes that the pork product would help mitigate some of his frustration at his inability to stay out of trouble. Manipulative? Yes. Necessary? Well, if he didn’t want to spend the rest of his teenage years grounded, then Stiles would have to say definitely.

Stiles just knew that somewhere up there, his mom was shaking her head at him. At least she was probably laughing, too.


	4. Family matters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles comes clean - mostly.

Two fairly average-sized omelets sat on separate plates, the colorful peppers and translucent onions adding a tangy tinge to the air. Two slices of toast shot up from the little toaster that could, proudly producing perfect morsels twenty years after being selected from a young couple’s wedding registry. Bacon remained warm in a skillet still resting on the stove. The sultry sounds of Nat King Cole drifted from an iPod dock. Standing at the stove, spatula suspended above another skillet, Stiles waited for the four small pancakes he was making to reach just the right shade of golden brown.

Measured yet heavy footfalls signaled the imminent arrival of the sheriff, and Stiles kept his eyes on his current task, trying to delay the coming conversation as long as possible. He needn’t have bothered. After all, he got his excellent deductive skills from his dad.

“Alright, kiddo. What did you do?”

Pretending that flipping the pancakes required all of his focus - which was pointless, since they both knew he had his mind on at least five things at once at all times - Stiles placed two on each plate, flicked off the burner, and divvied up the bacon. That done, he had nothing else to prevent him from turning and carrying the plates to the kitchen table, where forks and paper napkins already waited, along with the canola butter and organic honey.

“Stiles,” his dad breathed, taking in the scratches which contrasted horribly with the skin that the bathroom mirror had helpfully informed him was even more pale than normal. His jaw clenched, and he asked flatly, “You went into the woods, didn’t you?” The worst part was that after the initial shock of seeing his son’s face so torn up, he sounded resigned, rather than surprised.

After months of trying to behave, of working so hard to not make things more difficult for his dad, Stiles had allowed Scott’s previously non-existent love life to wreck his efforts. He really hoped Allison Argent was worth it.

He set the plates down on opposite ends of the small table and then sank into a chair, holding his hands up. “In my defense, it was not my idea, and I swear I will _never_ be doing it again. Once was definitely enough.”

“What happened?”

Here was the part Stiles still struggled with. Should he tell his dad about the werewolf that attacked him? Obviously, he would have to call it something else, because in spite of his dad’s ability to accept most of his quirks, seeing werewolves would probably be a little beyond even his open mind. Still, how was he supposed to tell him about one werewolf without telling him about the other? He couldn’t let his rescuer become a target, as well.

Stuffing half his omelette into his mouth gave him a little time to get his thoughts as close to in order as they ever could be, and after working through it and catching his dad’s exasperated stare, he swallowed what had been a fluffy mass and then said, “After the game last night, there was a party in the woods. Scott heard that Allison would be going.” His dad’s immediate understanding was both frustrating and incredibly relieving. The sheriff, Melissa McCall, and Stiles had all heard about the bright and beautiful Allison for most of the school year. “Since Mrs. McCall had to work, Scott begged me for a ride, and you know how hard it is to say no to that face he makes.”

“I’m aware,” his dad agreed dryly. When they were little, and their mothers had taken the odd girl’s night out - more for Melissa, than for his own mom, especially after Scott’s dad finally left - Scott had been able to con his best friend’s dad into anything, without actually conning him into it at all. It wasn’t until they were older that the guy realized how powerful his pleading expressions could be, and by then, the sheriff was mostly immune.

Stiles wished he had his dad’s fortitude.

“So, you went to the party, where I’m sure there was plenty of underaged drinking I don’t want to know about,” because his dad was wise in the ways of small town teenagers, and Stiles probably looked especially guilty right now. Still, it was his first offense, so far as his dad was aware. “What happened after that?”

Fiddling with his fork, Stiles said, “Well, Scott finally got the girl, so that was good. Mission accomplished, you know? The problem was that Allison rode to the party with some of her friends, so when she and Scott decided to leave early, they needed a ride. I didn’t really want to have a front row seat for their budding romance, and I knew Scott wanted some privacy, so... I let him take the jeep.”

”They left you there?” From the look on his dad’s face, he and Scott would be having an uncomfortable conversation in the near future.

As tempting as it was to let Scott take some of the focus off of his own indiscretions, Stiles resisted. “Yeah, well I told him I’d get a ride with someone else on the team.”

“And, of course, he believed you.”

“Yep.” Even though they all knew how unpopular Stiles was with the rest of the team. He loved his best friend, but the guy was way too gullible.

“Well, did you get a chance to spend some time with Lydia?” his dad asked hopefully, every bit as knowledgeable about his own son’s crush, especially since his had been going on for the past eight years. The day a little eight-year-old Stiles had tromped through the front door declaring that he was going to marry Lydia Martin was one Sheriff Stilinski would never forget, partly because it had been as adorable as it was hilarious, and partly because it was the same day his wife’s test results had come back from the hospital. A man couldn’t forget the day his wife was diagnosed with ovarian cancer.

“Actually, dad, she and Jackson spent the entire time trying to see how long they could go without taking their next breath, and considering Jackson’s the captain of the swim team, and Lydia’s perfect at pretty much everything, it’s pretty long.” He tried to sound as unaffected as possible, but the slight bitterness in his normally vibrant tone was unmistakable.

“Oh, kid,” his dad sighed. Sometimes he hated that Stilinski’s tended to fall so hard. He asked, “Have you thought about some of the other girls in your class?” even though he already knew the answer.

Instead of saying it outright, Stiles quipped, “Shouldn’t you just be happy I’m not out sowing my wild oats?”

The sheriff gave him a dry look. “I can’t deny that knowing that gives me the peace of mind I need in order to sleep soundly. But all I really want is exactly what every other halfway decent parent out there wants for their kids: for you to be happy and healthy.”

“Dad,” Stiles objected, “you’re way more than halfway decent. You’re the best.”

“Well, I’m glad you still think so. I haven’t really been feeling that way with the hours I’ve been working lately.” When Laura Hale had been found, and his crazy hours started, the sheriff had been able to comfort himself with the knowledge that Stiles at least had Scott around to keep him from getting lonely. Now that his son’s best friend was in a relationship, he worried that their time together would become more sparse. He added that to the list of things he wanted to discuss with Scott - at such a time and place that Stiles would be unable to overhear. When Melissa’s divorce was finalized, she asked the sheriff to step in from time to time, to be the man Scott needed in his life. She’d more than returned the favor in the years since his wife had died. It was one of the few things their sons never discussed, and he had a feeling it would stay that way.

Stiles tried to reassure his dad, bringing him back to the conversation at hand. “Yeah, but I mean - this isn’t the way it normally is. It’ll get better.”

“Yeah, of course it will,” the sheriff agreed, knowing it was what his son needed to hear. “In the meantime, I’m going to hold you to your promise to stay away from the woods, and I expect you to go straight to and from school every day, run any errands you have, and then do your schoolwork, and on the weekends, you’ll be doing a little free labor at the office. You’re grounded, son.”

Slumping down in his chair, Stiles mumbled, “Yeah. I figured,” and then managed to get most of a piece of toast in his mouth. His dad decided it would be better not to comment, choosing instead to let his son wallow a little bit. Eventually, Stiles stopped looking like he was hoarding for harder times and hating life. He shifted in his seat, planting his feet more firmly on the floor. “So, after Scott and Allison left, I didn’t really have a reason to be there anymore. Nobody else looked ready to leave,” and nobody had looked sober enough to drive him home anyway, “so I started to walk back to civilization, only there was this mountain lion on the way back.” At his dad’s alarmed expression, he hastened to assure him, “It was fine, though. Another mountain lion must have been feeling territorial or something, because it attacked the first one and gave me a chance to get away.”

He feared for his dad’s blood pressure until he scrubbed the hand not holding his fork over his face and eyed his son steadily. “Well, it sounds like you were incredibly lucky. Let’s not test that luck a second time, alright?”

“I think I’ve had my fill of the outdoors for a while.” Still, a part of him - a very large part, and the part that always landed him in some form of trouble or another - wanted to know more about the supernatural beings he had stumbled upon. Thankfully, he wouldn’t have to go very far. He tried to look as earnest and innocent as possible, all the while thinking about the small stack of books sitting in his room.


	5. Like Cleopatra, Joan of Ark, or Aphrodite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything in his life is kind of... _off_ right now, and his new feelings of paranoia aren't helping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is named after a line from Tal Bachman's _She's So High_.
> 
> Okay, so, you know how on youtube, there's this list of videos they consider related? Well, somehow my tunes for the time I spent writing this chapter led me to Cascada's _Bad Boy_ , and now I really want someone to make a vid about Stiles and Derek based on that song.
> 
> ... I have kind of eclectic taste in music, I know.

As soon as his dad was gone, Stiles grabbed a package of Oreos he’d hidden behind the new rolls of paper towels in the pantry, and holed himself up in his room. He ripped into the Oreos and then retrieved the illicit library books. The first one was drier than his lips in the middle of winter, and the second one claimed to be a serious text on the surface, but ultimately treated the entire concept of werewolves like a joke - which really, that was not much of a stretch, but Stiles totally wasn’t amused, because they were clearly real, and satire would do nothing to help him navigate this new reality he had stumbled into - but the third seemed decent enough, and when he checked, it was actually listed among the books on the website he had found earlier.

Disregarding the fact that tomorrow was a school day, Stiles got well and truly comfortable on his bed, a pen and notebook beside him for any particularly pertinent information, and got to work. He stayed up half the night, before the lateness of the hour and the lingering fatigue from his scare the previous night dragged him under, chocolate and cream staining his lips and fingers.

Far too few hours later, Stiles jerked out of another nightmare, feeling phantom claws rake his torso and thighs. Panting heavily, he tried to bring himself around and to shake off the lingering sense that he was not alone. It helped to take note of the crinkle of plastic, the soft comfort of his bed, the bright green light of his analogue clock. Although, really, he could have lived without realizing he didn’t have enough time to fall back asleep.

Groaning, he pulled himself up until his back was against the wall, and snagged the decimated Oreo package. He shoved one in his mouth and contemplated the merits of grabbing some milk. After all, he needed something to wash down his Adderall, and then he could dunk his cookies... Yeah. That sounded like an awesome plan. Milk and Oreos: breakfast of champions.

Stuffing another cookie in his mouth, he shuffled downstairs and procured a cup - plastic, like almost all of the rest, because his parents had learned early on that having glass kitchenware was an invitation for disaster when raising one Stiles Stilinski - and poured a generous amount of 2% before heading back upstairs. He skimmed over his notes from the night before as he continued reducing the Oreo count, the milk balanced semi-securely between his crossed legs.

Apparently wolfsbane truly was dangerous for werewolves, which was definitely something good to know. The various kinds supposedly had differing effects. Stiles both did and did not want to imagine the way that information had been obtained; some of the reactions described in the book had sounded incredibly violent and painful for everyone involved, while others seemed like a serious violation of a werewolf’s free will. The thought of someone roofying werewolves for their own twisted version of science made his breakfast sit sickly in his stomach.

Reflecting on the very real possibility that the high sugar content also had something to do with his discomfort, Stiles made himself finish off the last of his milk and then forced his limbs to depart from the warmth and safety of his bed. After a quick trip to the bathroom, where he washed all traces of his late night and early morning indulgence away, he found himself staring down at the collection of clothes in urgent need of a date with the laundry machine. He sighed. He knew what he would be doing once he got home from school.

Rooting around his bedroom floor, he found a shirt he was pretty sure he’d only worn once since its last washing, the jeans he’d worn yesterday, some slightly questionable socks, and at the end he threw his red hoodie on. He couldn’t be bothered with ironing one of his plaid shirts today. He scooped up his school bag and keys, debating over driving to Scott’s to pick him up.

Except that he was still pretty peeved about everything that had happened at the party on Saturday night, so, no. Scott could ride his bike to school and be happy about it.

His resolve lasted for about the time it took him to make his way out the door, and then he blinked and found himself turning down the street that led to his best friend’s house. Still, he didn’t have to be gracious about it. He reached up to honk the horn in order to light some fire under Scott’s lazy butt, and then remembered that Mrs. McCall might have only fallen asleep a short while ago. It would be better - and far more personal - to text Scott instead.

Several minutes later, a sheepish and sleepy Scott McCall stumbled out toward the Jeep. A critical eye noted the still vivid mark on the left side of his neck, and Stiles raised his eyebrows at Allison’s handy work. He should have known she would be a bit aggressive. That incredibly sweet, shy exterior had to lead to something darker and more wild. No one was really that innocent.

Well, no one but Scott.

“So,” he started after Scott had shut the passenger side door and buckled his seatbelt, “do you have anything you want to say to Stiles? Anything at all?”

Scott ducked his head and grinned that ridiculously adorable little grin of his. “You’re the best, man. The absolute best. And I’m sorry we left you at the party on Saturday night.” He peered up at Stiles from under his eyelashes. “Really.”

Rolling his own eyes, Stiles gave up fighting against an indulgent smile and shook his head. “You’re forgiven, loverboy.” Pulling away from the McCall residence, he said, “Now, tell me all about it. I know you’re dying to.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah, buddy. Everything, including that lovely little love bite you’re sporting. Lay it on me.”

If it was possible, Scott looked even dopier, his every pore oozing puppy love. “Stiles,” he breathed, “she’s _amazing_.”

Stiles spent the rest of the drive to the high school letting his best friend’s voice wash over him, partly grateful and partly pained by Scott’s obliviousness. Stiles had noticed his friend’s hickey, but Scott never once let on that he had seen the scrapes and slight discoloration marring his own, paler skin.

If he had imagined even for a second that the rest of the day would be any different, he was thoroughly disabused of the notion as soon as they pulled into a parking spot and his friend was there one second and gone the next. Stiles looked up in time to see him bounding over to his lady love, all traces of his earlier fatigue wiped away. Watching the two of them together would be enough to trigger his gag reflex if half of the cotton candy couple hadn’t been like a brother to him for more than half of his life.

Snorting, he snatched up his bag and followed after the happy pair, which stuck to each other as much as possible before and after every class. Allison even had a spot at their lunch table, now. That wasn’t actually much of an accomplishment, considering that before, the population had been a measly two sophomore losers, but it was like the entire world was being rearranged in order to fit this extra person, and the abruptness of their new situation left Stiles even more off balance than he would have been if the existence of werewolves was the only thing preying on his thoughts.

Because luck was almost never on his side, the only person to pick up on his heightened state of distraction was the absolute last person he wanted paying any attention to him in the first place. “Mr. Stilinski. Since you obviously cannot be bothered to focus on the lesson during class, you can go over the chapter again after school.”

Stiles lifted his gaze from where he had been staring at the blacktop in increments, daring to ask, “You mean you want me to reread the chapter at home?”

Mr. Harris brought a hand that was a little too firm down on his student’s shoulder. “No, Mr. Stilinski. I expect to see you in here for detention - and for your cheek, you can add tomorrow afternoon, as well.”

Facial muscles twitching into a sickly approximation of a smile, Stiles nodded and felt his fists balling up beneath the blacktop, trying to focus on that instead of on all of the words that were raring to run out of his mouth. When he was as certain as he could be of his control, he muttered, “Yes sir.”

It was not until Mr. Harris sat back down in the chair behind his desk that Stiles felt his body relax. He glanced toward the right side of the room and saw that Scott had pulled his head far enough out of Cloud Allison to give him a look of sympathy, and as Stiles nodded, he allowed a smile that felt much more real than the one he had given their chemistry teacher to turn up one corner of his lips in return.

After that lovely little confrontation, Stiles did his best to pay more heed to the lecture Mr. Harris was giving. For the most part, he was successful. He even jotted down a few notes that clarified certain points in the textbook that were slightly vague. However, even as his pen swept across his chemistry spiral, he could not shake the prickling at the back of his neck that told him he was being watched.


	6. A cloudy day in Metropolis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles isn't at all prepared for the world he knows is real and the world everyone else lives in to collide. 
> 
> He probably should have stayed in bed today, but how could he have turned down this view?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the words of Wayne and Garth: "We are not worthy. We are not worthy. We are not worthy. We're scum! We suck!" 
> 
> Guys, I know it's been three months since I've updated this. I'm sorry. I've been sick and seriously distracted. But hey, I already have the next chapter started. That should (hopefully) mean only good things.
> 
> This fic has not been abandoned, bbs. 
> 
> The title for this chapter comes from the Spin Doctor's _Jimmy Olsen's Blues_.

The rest of the week passed in a whirl of classes and homework and detention, of which he earned a further two after falling asleep in Harris’s class on Thursday - and Allison. Tons and tons of Allison. As happy as Stiles wanted to be for Scott, he did not wish to share in the actual joy of his new relationship, especially when all Stiles really wanted was to find out more about the creatures that went bump in Beacon Hills at night.

By the time Saturday rolled around, Stiles was more than ready for a change of pace, even if it meant getting up early and slaving away at the precinct under the friendly but watchful eyes of his dad’s deputies. He dragged himself out of bed and into an outfit that was actually freshly laundered for once, because being grounded did excellent things for his productivity in regards to household chores. Maybe he should get himself called up to the proverbial carpet more often. After all, it wasn’t as if his confinement could damage his social life any further than it already had been by his overall inability to make a niche for himself amongst his peers.

Forcibly pulling himself out of his unusually maudlin thoughts, he made his way downstairs and made himself focus on scrambling a perfect plate of eggs, allowing himself to be rather heavy-handed on the cheese since his dad was nowhere in evidence. The only real downside Stiles could see to his weekends at the precinct was that his dad would have to leave to head home shortly after Stiles arrived, since the good sheriff had been working nights, and likely would continue the pattern for the foreseeable future.

That, more than anything else, fed his determination to figure out what was going on with the werewolf that had tried to attack him in the woods last week. Stiles only had one parent left, and he wanted to have his dad around as much as possible. Call it clingy, call it co-dependent, call it whatever, Stiles looked after his own, and it was a lot easier to do exactly that when his own were readily available.

After scarfing down his decidedly not low-fat breakfast, he rinsed the remnants down the sink and ran upstairs to scoop up something a little heavier than his favorite hoodie, since the sky outside his bedroom window was an ugly shade of grey, along with his keys and wallet. He tripped and stumbled his way back down and out the door, after which he hopped gracelessly into his jeep.

His baby started up and Stiles flipped on the radio, letting the classic rock station occupy the part of his mind that wasn’t already keeping track of the few cars sharing the road this early on a Saturday and wondering if he should stop off at the coffee shop to get himself and his dad a little pick-me-up. Getting stuck with crappy coffee in exchange for wearing a shiny badge might have been cliched, but it was cliched for a reason.

He went ahead and got the coffee.

“You do realize, oh son of mine, that bringing your old man coffee will not lighten your sentence?” the sheriff asked, accepting the gloriously hot cup his kid held out nonetheless.

“Please, dad,” Stiles scoffed. “Give me a little more credit than that. If I want to get off easy I’ll be much more subtle.” He winced at his own phrasing, and father and son both worked to avoid each others’ gaze until most of the awkwardness passed, at which point Stiles clapped his hands together. The motion narrowly missed tipping his own steaming cup of Joe over and into his lap. With the practice of many years, Stiles feigned obliviousness and said, “So, I believe you wanted me to do some free labor?”

“Oh, don’t worry, kiddo. We’ll get to that in a minute. But first, I thought we might spend a little time catching up.” That made perfect sense to Stiles, since it was somewhat of a minor miracle that the two of them were actually awake and in the same place at the same time, and besides, it wasn’t like he was actually _eager_ to sort files or scrub floors or whatever dull as dirt jobs his dad would assign him before heading out.

Sprawling in the chair in front of his dad’s desk, Stiles retrieved his coffee and took a grateful sip before regaling the older man with stories of his best friend’s escapades over the past week, painting a vivid picture of Scott in all his lovestruck glory.

A while later, his dad glanced up, something catching his peripheral vision, and his face shifted from indulgently paternal to - well, actually, it still looked sort of paternal, though without the show of sternness he tried to use when Stiles was doing whatever time fit his most recent crime. “Derek. Good to see you. I’d forgotten for a moment, dealing with my delinquent son,” he ignored his son’s indignant squawk, though he lost the battle against the amused grin wanting to stretch his lips, “that you were starting today.”

“Don’t worry, sir. I know how it is. I got into all kinds of trouble when I was kid.”

Stiles turned around at the sound of the strangely warm baritone, his mouth hanging open, because it didn’t matter that he had only heard it once before; he would recognize that voice anywhere. Half expecting to find fangs and glowing blue eyes, his shoulders fell from the tense position they had seized in. ‘Derek,’ as it turned out, was actually Derek _Hale_ , of the _Hale family_ , whose entire house and majority of its members _burned to death_ over six years ago in a fire. Even more than that, though, Derek Hale was the werewolf who had saved him that night in the woods. He had to be. Those broad shoulders, with that seriously impressive chest and intimidatingly perfect stomach, could only coexist for one ridiculously beautiful person in a horrifically small town like Beacon Hills.

He was pretty sure his eyes were bugging out and roaming just a tad too overtly, because his dad actually cleared his throat in his general direction before turning back to Derek and saying, “I remember. You had quite the lead foot when you first got your license.”

“I’m not really sure how much that’s changed, sir.” What was that about Derek getting into trouble when he was a kid? Stiles thought Derek was trouble _now_ , with that devastating grin, on the surface giving an impression of ‘Aw shucks,’ but underneath seething with some deeper purpose that, at the risk of sounding like Jackson Whittemore levels of egotistical, was meant for Stiles. He gulped, feeling like nothing so much as prey caught out in the open, even though he knew on an instinctual level that Derek would never actually hurt him.

“Well, as long as you save it for emergencies, I don’t think that will be too much of a problem.” His dad was leaning back in his desk chair, totally relaxed, and the whole thing left Stiles feeling so completely out of his depth, because two thirds of the room were keeping secrets - keeping secrets _together_ \- and the other third didn’t suspect a thing. Granted, neither of them were giving him ample reason to suspect anything, other than Stiles’s blatant bout of staring, but still.

“Of course, sir,” Derek demurred. Seriously. That looking up from under his eyelashes thing? Like freaking kryptonite.

Still, Stiles did his best to shake himself out of the haze Derek’s - _everything_ \- had put him in. “Uh, hey,” Stiles said, waving his arms in a sort of full-body shrug and trying to sound as casual as possible, “why don’t I show Derek around the rest of the station before I give into my fate as the office slave?”

His dad eyed him indulgently, and then nodded. “If Derek doesn’t mind.”

Derek shook his head. “Not at all, Sheriff.”

“Well, alright, then. Let me know if you need anything, and don’t let Stiles drive you too crazy.”

Standing, Stiles rolled his eyes and quipped, “Thanks for the support, dad. It’s heartwarming. Really.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the sheriff said, tipping his coffee cup in a slight salute. “Get out of here, kiddo.”

Now that was an order Stiles had absolutely no trouble following.


	7. Sound so innocent, all full of good intent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Detours are kind of inevitable with a guide like Stiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title comes from Sara Bareilles' _King of Anything_ , because that's the last song I listened to as I was writing, and otherwise, it would have wound up being something based off of Alice Cooper's _Poison_ \- and we're just not that far into this fic for lyrics with that kind of heat, you know?

Perhaps it should have felt awkward showing someone he had seen running around half-naked in the woods around the place where Stiles had spent a considerable amount of his childhood, especially since the guy in question had looked like something out of a modern day supernatural drama at the time. In a way, it was, but Stiles was already an old hat at acting as though the giant pink elephant in the room was purely decorative and not to be acknowledged except in passing, so he diligently gave it its due passing acknowledgement and moved on. He led the tour with a certain amount of irony, because as much as he loved visiting his dad there when he was little, the place was only as impressive as a small-town sheriff’s department could hope to be.

Still, Derek seemed attentive and appreciative enough for the effort Stiles put forth, even breaking his intent expression in order to smirk a little when Stiles introduced him to the ridiculously crappy coffee maker in the break room. “If you value your taste buds at all, you will avoid this thing at all costs. The only thing it’s good for is making sure you don’t crash on your way home from pulling too many all-nighters in a row while you’re working a case.” Glancing out into the empty hall, Stiles decided to take a bit of a risk. He stared straight at his companion, dropping all hints of levity or insouciance, and said, “That is, if caffeine even has any effect on you at all.”

It was like Stiles had doused Derek with liquid nitrogen. Seeing all of that power so thoroughly frozen in an instant took his breath away, and he had a newfound understanding of how John Connor must have felt staring at the T-1000 in that metal factory in _Judgment Day_. Eventually, he swallowed and darted toward the door, closing and locking it. Stiles was certain that unlike the T-1000, when Derek regathered himself, the werewolf would not try to kill him, but it did not hurt to take a few precautions. It would really suck if Stiles accidentally caused Derek to shift and reveal himself to the rest of the precinct.

As though the soft _snick_ of the lock was a signal, Derek began to thaw, moving toward Stiles with all the natural grace of a predator. It was a good thing the door to the break room had no window, because Stiles quickly found himself pressed against it. When Derek spoke, his voice left no room for argument or evasion. “You know.”

“Yep.” Stiles gazed back at him levelly, trying not to get lost in the multiple layers of color in his eyes.

“How?”

Scoffing, Stiles retorted, “Like I could forget what you looked like after you saved my frickin’ _life_. You’re pretty distinctive, dude, with or without your game face.”

“My game face,” Derek repeated flatly, raising an incredulous eyebrow. Before Stiles could open his mouth to explain the reference, his werewolf companion shook his head and told him, “This isn’t like an episode of _Buffy_ , Stiles. This is real life.”

Instead of responding with umbrage at exactly how patronizing Derek sounded, Stiles chose to focus on something more pressing. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t really strike me as a _Buffy_ fan.”

The second eyebrow joined the first, and Derek told him wryly, “It’s fun to watch the writers and costume departments get it all wrong, and besides, I think that of the two of us, I’m the one who should be surprised. You’re a little young.”

He hesitated before going ahead and saying what he wanted. Sometimes a guy just needed to talk about these things, and now was one of those times. Derek, of all people, should understand. “I used to watch the DVDs with my mom. She had the boxed set.”

Nodding solemnly, Derek shared a part of his own past in return. “I wasn’t actually allowed to watch the show when it first came on, but Laura was a few years older, and she liked to tape it, so whenever she got stuck babysitting me, we’d watch old episodes. We splurged on the DVDs after -”

Not wanting Derek to have to say it, Stiles sighed, “Yeah,” and then asked, “So, would you maybe want to come watch them with me sometime? I mean, not that I think we’re gonna be best friends or anything, but you did save my life, and I don’t know if you kept in touch with anyone after you left, but it might be nice for you to hang out with someone outside of work that knows you sometimes get the urge to howl at the moon.”

“I haven’t howled in months,” Derek told him, his face shutting down.

“Oh. No?”

“No. A wolf howls to signal to the rest of his pack. I lost the rest of my pack back in September.”

Something about that resonated with Stiles’s memory. “September... September... Wait. That’s when all of the ‘mountain lion’ attacks first started - which I guess were really werewolf attacks - and the first body found was a young woman... That was Laura? Derek, I-”

Clearing his throat, Derek stopped him before he could try to express any sort of sympathy. “We’d been making plans to come back to Beacon Hills for a few months when the first article appeared in the online newspaper about the strange markings left on a deer carcass. Laura wanted to take care of any threats in the area before we made the move, and I still had some things I needed to do before I could start working here, so I stayed in New York. She was here for a few weeks - just long enough to get us a small house and start decorating. Then on the full moon, she was attacked. I wrapped everything up in New York as quickly as I could, and I’ve been here ever since, looking for whoever killed Laura and waiting to start working here.”

Stiles felt his mind racing with all of the new information, sorting it all out to form a more cohesive picture of the past six months. “So that other werewolf - that’s who killed her, right? And the thing that’s been killing all of the other people?”

“It makes sense,” Derek acknowledges. “That werewolf was an alpha, and there are only a few ways to become one. Killing an alpha is one of those ways, and that’s what Laura was before she died. The other night when that rogue alpha attacked you was the first time I actually saw it. Before that, I thought it was hunters that killed my sister.”

“Wait, hunters? Rogue alpha? I kind of feel like I should be taking notes or something.” A little wistfully, Stiles remembered the spiral of notes he had already started compiling. All of that information was great, but it wasn’t nearly as helpful as hearing all of this firsthand.

Shaking his head, Derek stepped away from Stiles, letting his hands fall from where they had been hemming his head in against the door. It took awhile for Stiles to get his bearings after that. For some reason, such close proximity to Derek was easily as heady as the alcohol he had consumed at the party on the night they first met - if their brief interaction in the woods could be considered a meeting, anyway - and in that time, Derek had managed to shuffle him away from the door, putting a hand on the door handle. “Look, this really isn’t the best place to have this conversation. If you want to know more, I can come by your house one night when your father is on shift, and I’ll try to answer any questions you have - within reason.” He added that last part with a pointed look when Stiles started to get _ideas_. Having such a malleable face was so inconvenient sometimes.

“Yeah, okay,” Stiles agreed, unable to completely quell his disappointment at not being able to have all the answers that instant. A few seconds later, he brightened at the realization that Derek was voluntarily making plans for them to see each other outside of the precinct. Sure, it was purely for the sharing of information, but Stiles could work with that. He would get Derek to watch some _Buffy_ with him at some point, on that he was resolved. “Guess we should finish the tour before my dad sends out a search party - or worse, comes looking for us himself.” It would be a little hard to explain why it was necessary to spend more than a minute in the break room, particularly when neither of them had actually made use of any of the coffee maker, the microwave, or the fridge.

Derek unlocked the door and held it open, motioning Stiles ahead and uttering a soft, slightly mocking, “Lead the way.”

Brushing by his companion, Stiles felt again that intoxicating awareness, and he swallowed roughly. Maybe it would be a good thing to be around other people, because otherwise, he had the distinct feeling that he would find himself doing something stupid.


	8. Reappear in a flash (There is more I'd like to know)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles likes to snoop - but hey, he's really just a concerned citizen. That counts for something. 
> 
> Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, hey, you guys actually get two chapters in two days. I haven't done that well updating anything in ages. Are you shocked?
> 
> The title for this chapter comes from Fever Ray's _Now's The Only Time I Know_.
> 
> Something I should probably mention, especially since it came up in the comments on the previous chapter: Derek is going to seem a little less harsh in this - at least where Stiles is concerned. Stiles never convinced Scott that Derek killed Laura, and he never dug up her body. There's more to in than that (this is a story - there's always more to it than that) but that's all I'll say about it for now.
> 
> Also: I typically try to avoid having characters use each others' names too often in dialogue. _However_ , there is a reason that I'm breaking that rule in this chapter - and probably in future chapters, as well.

After wrapping up the tour of the station and bidding Derek farewell for the time being, Stiles stopped by his dad’s office again in the off chance that the man in question was still there. Unfortunately, the chair behind his desk was empty, and Stiles sighed at the sight from where he leaned against the doorframe. As glad as he felt that his dad actually chose to go home of his own volition, and did not have to be lured into sleeping with the promise of something greasy or deep-fried for his compliance, it would have been nice to have a little more time together.

Still, Stiles had needed to have some time to talk with Derek away from any prying eyes and ears, and he was at least marginally more informed about the goings-on in Beacon Hills than he had been before, with the agreement of more information to come. On the topic of more information - not getting to chat some more with his dad was always disappointing, but at the moment it had the unexpected benefit of leaving Stiles in his office unattended, with ample time to snoop around before someone decided to come searching for the precinct gopher.

Straightening, Stiles moved into the room and pushed the door until only a sliver of the hall showed through. If someone did come looking for him, he should be able to hear it, and since he was no longer holed away with a twenty-something deputy, he could simply claim to be playing hooky. No one would doubt him, and he was fairly certain they would not rat him out to his dad, either. Most of the deputies had known him since he was a little boy - some of them had been at his parents’ wedding - and they all tended to treat him like family. The only time members of the police force told Sheriff Stilinski about his son’s antics was when they caught him in the middle of something that could potentially endanger his life, like speeding in his jeep or, before all of the “mountain lion attacks” started, going out and investigating the few crime scenes that cropped up in Beacon Hills on his own.

Everything in the precinct sounded normal so far, so Stiles strode around his dad’s desk and sank into the chair there. What once was a firmly stuffed office chair now gave a pneumatic hiss, and Stiles felt his mouth twisting in a grimace at the way the lack of padding failed to soften the impact of his backside with the seat. Well, that was the last time he would be trying that maneuver. It definitely did not help that no matter how much muscle he worked to put on, his butt still remained just this side of bony. There could be worse things, though. At least the Stilinski men were more disposed to the lean side of things, as opposed to the wider side. He imagined he would be that much more stressed about his dad’s diet otherwise, and that would not be fun for anyone involved.

Rubbing his bum ruefully, Stiles glanced around his dad’s desk, rifling through the files. Unfortunately, none of it was actually relevant to his interests. The files were all performance reviews for the deputies. Next, he tried the large desk drawer. It was locked, but Stiles had expected nothing less.

Fortunately, his dad’s habit of calling Stiles a delinquent was more than deserved. Reaching into the little bowl of office supplies sitting innocently on the desk, he snagged two paperclips and set about picking the lock. He was unable to prevent a triumphant whisper of, “Yes!” when he managed to get the drawer open, but after stuffing the two mangled paperclips in his jacket pocket and waiting for a tense minute, he remained undiscovered.

He hit the jackpot.

The first file in the stack he pulled out of the desk was Laura Hale’s. Then there was the bus driver’s file, and the one for the guy at the movie rental store, and a handful of others. The very last file was the case file for the Hale fire, and when he flipped it open, there was a sticky note with the names of all the recent murder victims, along with a single word at the top followed by a question mark:

_Motive?_

For an indeterminate amount of time, all Stiles could hear was a dull roaring in his ears; all he could see was that one word, written in his dad’s distinctive scrawl. Clearly, he and Derek were not the only ones to suspect that the Beacon Hills mountain lion population was purposely being given a bad rap. As much as he had hoped to keep his dad away from the supernatural side of things, it was starting to look like little more than a pipe dream. After all, if he could put this together, who could say that his dad would not ultimately follow all of the threads of the case right to the rogue alpha?

As if from a great distance, Stiles heard his name called. By the time he was able to drag his eyes away from the file lying open on the desk, Derek had knelt down and started the process of turning the chair to face him. His large hands sat on the armrests on either side of Stiles, and he stared up at him, his lips tightly pressed and his eyes showing concern. So much for Stiles being able to hear anyone coming. Granted, there were mitigating circumstances, but if it had been anyone but Derek who had found him before he had a chance to put all the files away, things would have been incredibly awkward to explain.

“Your heart is beating like crazy, Stiles. What’s wrong?”

Wordlessly - probably a first for him, he would admit, if he was actually able to focus on anything other than the panic threatening to overtake him completely - Stiles presented Derek with the file and watched as the werewolf made quick work of putting it all together. “What reason would the alpha have for going after everyone connected to the fire?” Derek asked, his eyes looking vulnerable in a way Stiles had never thought he would see them, even when they were discussing Laura’s death earlier.

“Don’t know,” Stiles said through bloodless lips. “My dad didn’t exactly leave any clues, and I might be capable of some pretty odd things for someone my age, but telepathy isn’t one of them.”

That seemed to get through to Derek, who closed the file and set it back on top of the desk with the others before facing Stiles again. “Look, this doesn’t mean anything, alright? We don’t even know how long he’s had that list put together, and so far as I know, no suspects have been brought in. Right now, the best thing you can do is pull yourself together and go sort through the cold cases Deputy Rogers has waiting for you.” Moving his hands to rest on the stretch of leg just above Stiles’s knees, Derek leaned forward intently. “No one can know that you know anything about this, okay, Stiles? This is important.”

Forcing air into his lungs, Stiles nodded. “Yeah, sure, I got it. Act normal.”

Eying him and looking more than a little skeptical, Derek eventually nodded back and stood up. “Alright. The others think I’m using the restroom, so I’m gonna go. Put everything back where you found it and then go find Rogers.”

Before Derek could disappear, Stiles called out, “Hey, wait!” When Derek paused to look back at him, Stiles pulled out his cell phone and held it up. “We should probably have each others' numbers, right? I mean, in case we see something or hear something and need to pass it along?” His heart, which had calmed down when Derek finally got Stiles to snap out of it, started to pick up again for an entirely different reason. Judging from the amused quirk of Derek’s eyebrows, the guy recognized the change and the reasons behind it. Nevertheless, he came toward the desk and took Stiles’s phone, putting his number in dutifully.

He handed it back with a pointed look and a firm, “I’ll talk to you later, Stiles,” and then he was gone.

Stiles fired off a text so that Derek would have his number, as well, and then he set about putting all of the pertinent files back where they belonged. He did his best to make his dad’s desk look like it had before he started rooting through it, and then sat back in the chair to twiddle his thumbs for a few more minutes. Hopefully, no one would think to connect Derek’s bathroom break to Stiles in any way, but it would not hurt to be extra cautious.

Now, more than ever, it was vital that he and Derek could find ways to be around each other without inviting the scrutiny of his dad and the rest of the police department.


	9. Coming for you (I won't be fine)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Werewolves, dude. Werewolves everywhere. It's possible that Stiles is freaking out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title for this chapter comes from Avenged Sevenfold's _Welcome to the Family_.

Faint strains of conversation met his ears, and Stiles decided it was as safe for him to leave his dad’s office as it would ever be. He bid a less than fond farewell to the office chair and made for the door, flipping the light off before he headed towards the front desk.

Rogers greeted him with a knowing look and a daunting stack of case files. “The conference room is free. Go ahead and get snacks from the vending machine whenever, but leave crumbs in there, and you die.” She stared up at him after issuing her ultimatum, and then said mildly, “Hop to it, Stiles, or you’ll still be here tomorrow morning.”

Stiles raised his eyebrows at her skeptically. “You do realize this isn’t a one-time thing, right? I’ll be back here tomorrow anyway.”

“Oh, believe me, I know. Don’t worry. I promised your dad I would find plenty of work for you to do while you’re here.” Stiles took back every loving thought he had ever had about his dad’s deputies. Especially about Rogers, because she clearly derived far too much joy from his suffering. That might have something to do with all the times she had babysat him when he was younger. He freely admitted that he was a handful and a half.

Sighing, he accepted the files with a rueful twist to his lips. “Touche, babe.”

“Do we need to have a talk about sexual harassment in the workplace?”

“Well, that depends on how you-”

Rogers cut him off before he could finish, ducking her head in a futile attempt to hide her grin. “Go work, you menace.”

After leaving Rogers in peace, the rest of what was meant to be an incredibly boring day at the precinct passed in a haze for Stiles. Although he tried to focus on the cold cases, most of his attention was wrapped up in the alpha, the recent murders, Derek, and his dad. He vaguely remembered looking up from the conference table at one point to be met with the disapproving gaze of the newest addition to his dad’s department, and being ordered to take a break and eat something. When Stiles only blinked at Derek stupidly, the guy sighed and rolled his eyes, walking away. Two minutes later, there was a sandwich sitting in front of him, a little ways away from all the files, accompanied by a bottle of water and a bag of pretzels. By the time he had the presence of mind to say "Thank you," the words had to be spoken to a rapidly disappearing back.

Somewhat miraculously, Stiles was able to get everything done just as it started getting dark out. Making sure to double check the table and the flooring around the chair he’d chosen for crumbs, he handed all of the files off to Deputy Miller, Rogers’ relief, and headed out to the parking lot. As he got in, a prickling feeling along the back of his neck made him stop and look around. No one else was in the parking lot, as far as he could see, but the sensation of being watched refused to dissipate.

Shaking his head, Stiles tried to tell himself that he was being ridiculous. He almost believed it, until he caught sight of two red points of light from across the lot, the source hidden in the trees and the fading daylight.

He slammed the driver’s side door of the jeep shut and started the car with shaking hands before peeling out of the parking lot and taking off as quickly as he could without drawing unwanted attention from the officers on duty. Adrenalin pumping through his veins hard and fast, he nearly lost it when a doe walked out into the road. Screeching to a halt, he slammed his hands on the steering wheel and tried to take several slow, deep breaths. The doe stood and stared at his jeep the entire time it took for him to calm down enough to even think about driving again, all the while wondering if the alpha was still around.

Eventually, he flickered his lights, and the doe reared back and ran off the road, returning to the relative safety of the forest. Stiles tried not to feel guilty for hoping it would take his place as the alpha’s meal for the night, and then took off. The outline of a large black beast began to take shape in his rearview mirror, and he told the speed limit to die in a fire, racing the rest of the way home.

When he pulled up beside his dad’s cruiser, he checked for further signs of the alpha. Nothing. No deformed wolf thing, no creepy red eyes staring him down. Panting, he slumped against the driver’s seat and wondered if the whole drive was some sort of panic-induced hallucination, or if the alpha was screwing with him. Then, a distant howl came to his ears, and he jerked in his seat. Definitely real, then.

He got out of the car and practically ran to the front door, cursing when he fumbled with the keys and then bursting into the house. Shutting the door firmly, he locked both locks and then pressed his arm against the door and leaned his head against it, trying to work through the panic before walking further into the house. No need to run into his dad and freak him out. What would Stiles even be able to say if he saw him? _Oh, it’s nothing dad. I just have this murdering werewolf stalking me, but it’s all good, really._ Yeah, that would go over really well. 

Eventually, he felt like he might be able to handle holding a somewhat normal conversation with the man who was halfway responsible for giving him life, and he peeled himself away from the front door, heading down the hall and into the kitchen. He walked over to the pantry and stared dully at the contents before deciding he didn’t really have any business using the stove or handling a knife in his current state. A quick phone call later, and Stiles headed upstairs for a shower, confident in his ability to be in and out before the delivery guy arrived with the large vegetarian pizza he ordered.

He could allow his dad to splurge on his diet for tonight. It might even distract him from any residual tension Stiles could not wash away under the hot water.

The pizza worked better than Stiles expected, even with all the extra bell peppers and olives he requested. His dad’s open appreciation for the meal almost made Stiles consider lightening up about monitoring everything the man ate. Then he thought about his latest test results from the doctor and shook off his brief moment of weakness. His dad would not be getting clogged arteries on his watch.

Strange as it sounded, it was actually a relief to stress over his dad’s heart and his cholesterol levels. They were problems he worried about on a regular basis, and so far removed from any of the recent bizarre events in his life that they made it all seem like a series of horrible dreams. He was pretty sure he had zero desire to know what that said about him as a person.

When half the pizza was demolished, and the rest of it was in the fridge, his dad walked over to pull Stiles into a hug. At first, Stiles tried to react the way he always did, folding his arms around his dad’s back comfortably enough without being constricting. Then, a few seconds later, he found himself clinging to his dad tightly, pressing his face into his dad’s neck.

The sheriff rubbed his son’s back in a soothing, circular motion with one hand and cupped his buzzed head with the other, asking a quiet, “You doing okay, kiddo?” Instead of answering out loud, Stiles nodded against his dad’s neck and tried to burrow even closer. “Uhuh,” the sheriff muttered dubiously, his voice still a comforting rumble in his son’s ears. “Do you want to talk about it, whatever it is?”

This time, Stiles shook his head, causing his dad to sigh, but he kept rubbing his back and holding him close.

“You know I can’t fix it if I don’t know what it is, right?” When Stiles still stayed silent, the sheriff asked, “Do you want me to call into the office and tell them I need to take the night off?”

Finally, Stiles made himself pull away from his dad, shaking his head again. “No, dad, you don’t have to do that. I know you’ve got a lot on your plate right now, and I’m fine I just-” he broke off and shrugged sheepishly, before saying, “I just really needed a hug.”

His dad eyed him carefully, clearly skeptical. “If you’re sure?”

“Yeah, absolutely. Go finish getting ready. I’m just going to get started on my homework.”

“Alright,” said his dad. “Don’t stay up too late, and try not to get too distracted by the wonders of the internet. And Stiles,” he paused, looking at his son significantly, “if you need anything - anything at all - you call me. Okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” Stiles agreed, bobbing his head.

His dad made a doubtful sounding ‘hmm’ at the back of his throat, but otherwise let the matter lie. Running a hand over Stiles’s hair, he told him, “Love you, son.”

He was incredibly relieved when his voice held steady as he said it back.

Then his dad went off to the master bedroom, and Stiles decided to make himself some hot chocolate, because he needed something to help calm him down, and raiding his dad’s Jack Daniels was not a viable option.

He had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

A few minutes later, when his dad walked out the front door and Stiles went up to his bedroom, his hot chocolate held carefully in one hand, his feeling was proved right, because there was a werewolf sitting in the chair in front of his desk.

**Author's Note:**

> I finally gave in and created a Tumblr, so if you want to contact me with a query, a quote, a quip, or a quibble, I now have a tumblr page, which you can find here: http://www.tumblr.com/blog/pixiethisisnotmybeautifulhouse


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